The Shadow Blades
by Kindred's Bloody Masquerade
Summary: A story of pirates and thieves, of assassins, rogues, criminals and villainous kings and decadent and depraved noblemen. Follow Athalas and his notorious band of companions on a tale of deceit, murder, revenge, as their lust for wealth brings them into conflict with powerful enemies whose own schemes threaten to unleash the wrath of abyssal powers hell-bent on destruction.


_**The Shadow Blades **_

_**Introduction:**_

_**Torathos-Sangara, City of Pirates**_

_**5,998**__**th**__** Year since Amontor's Founding**_

_**128**__**th**__** Year of The Empress of Amontor's Rule**_

_**1815**__**th**__** Year of Carmathia's Founding**_

_**45**__**th**__** Year of Emperor Ragnar of Carmathia's Rule**_

_**2**__**nd**__** Month of Winter on the Pirate Coast**_

_**Torathos-Sangara, The Pirate Coast, Midwinter, 1815CF (Empire of Carmathia Founding), 1200 Miles West of Carmathia City.**_

Torathos-Sangara, City of Pirates, Fortress of the Pirate King, Scourge of the Seas, Jewel of the Pirate Coast, Cesspit of Humanity. The city had many names depending on who was asked about it. The city was home to pirates, bandits, criminals, murderers, thieves, assassins and all manner of other undesirables who were unwelcome in the lands that spawned them. For many the city was a haven from the laws of civilized nations and society. It was a place to escape justice for their many and varied crimes. For many others it was a prison where the price of flesh was bought and sold as commonly as one would buy fruit or bread. The Pirate King was a savage and ruthless ruler who crushed any talk of rebellion with an iron fist. The life of the slave in Torathos-Sangara was a desperate and brutal one indeed.

It was the worst winter the people of Torathos-Sangara had seen in over a hundred years. The normally bustling street markets of The Pirate City were all but empty of anything but an ever growing blanket of snow. Only the hardiest and greediest traders dared venture out to sell their wares on such a godsforsaken day as this. For the eighty thousand or more souls that called Torathos-Sangara home it was a time to reflect on the passing year, and to look forward to the approaching year of raiding and plundering. For the two hundred thousand slaves of Torathos-Sangara it was simply another year of servitude, brutality and despair.

The long winter days and nights were spent in drunken revelry, offering up sacrifices to Utherion, God of Pirates, Criminals, Bandits and Slavers or plotting raids for the forthcoming year. The hundreds of taverns and inns were filled to bursting with the city's inhabitants and those outsiders who dared to visit the city in such inhospitable weather. It was a busy time for the city's defenders the Red Guard, pirates conscripted into the Pirate King's private army. It was commonplace for a dozen or more murders a day, and only those deaths of people considered important enough to warrant the Red Guard's attention were ever investigated.

The port of Torathos-Sangara never slept, hundreds of ships arrived every day. Whether it was fresh slaves for the slave market or fruit and other trade goods there was always a need for more. It was not a rare sight to see the bounty of a pirate raid brought into the docks, ships that had been captured by the ever present pirate raiders that operated out of the city. The fact that Torathos-Sangara had never been destroyed spoke only too highly of the Pirate King and his predecessors' intention to turn the city into a mighty fortress that would never be conquered by vengeful nations seeking revenge for acts of piracy. But more importantly the city had a long standing alliance with the Empire of Amontor. The city provided fresh slaves and trade opportunities and left Amontorian shipping alone and in return the empire overlooked the criminal activities that were carried out so close to their lands.

_**Athalas:**_

_**The Singing Pirate Tavern, Docks District**_

A hooded man sat at the back of The Singing Pirate Tavern, his cloak wrapped around him to ward against the terrible gale that seemed to blow under the tavern door. He smoked a long pipe, the pipeweed's aroma wafting across the tavern mingling with the ever present smells of stale ale, sweat, piss and other smokable concoctions. He held a metal tankard in his other hand, sipping steadily from the warm frothing brown ale that the serving wench had just poured for him. His face was covered by the hood of his travelling cloak, a thick black fur material that kept out the chills on this snowy winter afternoon. Across from the hooded man sat a rather jovial fat man, sipping gently from a wine glass and inhaling a strange bubbling substance from a bottle with a blow pipe attached to it. His eyes glazed with giddy delight as the potent liquid took effect and rendered him highly intoxicated.

Athalas regarded the merchant warily, he watched as the merchant examined the bag of precious stones. The merchant handled each one in turn, his eye glass pressed to his eye as he picked over the quality of the crafted gemstones.

"Fine craftsmanship indeed my friend. From where did you acquire such bounteous gifts?" The fat man asked never taking his eyes of the diamond in his hands.

"From a reliable source, Marakius. You need know nothing more. Other than their worth to you and the price you are willing to pay." Athalas said as he studied the fat merchant with amusement.

"I will pay a fair price, Athalas. Of that you can be certain. But what would you consider a fair price for such wondrous gifts? Shall we say fifty gold crowns, and that is very generous of my good self don't you think?" The fat man said with a wicked grin as he caressed the precious gemstone between his fat fingers.

"Shall we say seven hundred gold crowns, Marakius? I already know of their worth and the fact that you can get over a thousand crowns for them. I believe that was what you really meant to say." Athalas said with a sly grin as he took a gulp of ale and blew smoke across the table which caused the fat man to cough uncontrollably.

"Outrageous, of course I may be able to sell them for a profit but I have costs, overheads, people to pay and things to arrange. I couldn't possibly go above a hundred gold crowns." The fat merchant protested with a show of bluster as he waved his arms around to make a point that he was indeed being cruelly robbed of his hard earned coin.

"The price is still eight hundred gold crowns, Marakius." Athalas said as he carefully studied the older man's expression.

"You said seven hundred, and now you want eight hundred, that is not how it works my crafty friend. I'm sure with one hundred and fifty gold crowns in your pocket you will leave happy in the knowledge that I have been terribly robbed of my hard earned coin and you have put one over on old Marakius. A fine trick indeed for one such as yourself." The wily old merchant said as he took a handful of the stones in his hand.

"A slip of the tongue, Marakius. Perhaps seven hundred and fifty is too high even for one such as yourself to pay." Athalas said as he kept his eye closely on the merchant as he held a small ransom in his hands.

"With all things considered, I couldn't possibly pay more than two hundred gold crowns. Perhaps I should walk away with my integrity and a full purse intact." The merchant complained through a look of quiet determination.

"Then our business is concluded, Marakius, seven hundred is my final request. I am sure I will find a more reasonable and less greedy buyer elsewhere." Athalas said as he put his hand out to take back the stones.

"Hasty words indeed my good friend. Perhaps now that I have had time to reflect, and with a little cost cutting I may be able to offer you four hundred gold crowns, twice their worth to me. You would surely be robbing me blind. You will leave me a beggar on the streets with your foolish demands." The merchant protested loudly before he suddenly remembered where he was and the fact that many in the tavern would cut his throat for such a bounty.

"You're not listening, Marakius. Seven hundred or I walk." Athalas demanded with a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Alright, alright, you are a hard man to please, young Athalas. A tricky individual of the most cunning kind. You would take the shirt from back, the boots from my feet, the purse from belt and leave me with nothing. How can I possibly justify paying such a price for such little things. Perhaps if I were to offer you a king's ransom of five hundred gold crowns you would see that this hard working merchant is being overly generous and not a little too foolish and kind for his own good." The merchant said hopefully as he returned Athalas's gaze.

"You drive a hard bargain, Marakius, but I couldn't possibly let them go for less than six hundred and fifty crowns, I would indeed be robbing myself." Athalas replied, eager to see the coins in his purse.

"At last you drop that ridiculous price you had set your sights on, but not by nearly enough. Because we are friends and I value your custom. I will just this once agree to pay you a princely sum of six hundred gold crowns. I will be unable to feed my family for a month but that should not trouble one such as yourself. You are indeed a hard man to please, young Athalas. Perhaps next time you bring me such delightful trinkets, you can warn me in advance so that I can arrange to rob the king's vaults to be able to afford your outrageous demands."

"You know you have robbed me, old man. Don't pretend anything other than you have yourself a very profitable deal." Athalas said as Marakius handed him a bag of gold coins already counted out.

"Will that suffice, will that render you speechless? Such riches you have never possessed." Marakius questioned.

Athalas poured out the contents of the bag and proceeded to count every last coin, wary of the merchant's greed. Five minutes later he had counted exactly six hundred coins and had replaced them in the cloth purse.

"It seems you already knew how much you were willing to pay, Marakius."

"Simply an observation on my part. It helps to know your customer."

"So how much will they bring you?" Athalas enquired, curious as to the worth of the stones to the right people.

"That is a secret for myself and myself alone. If I were to tell you the worth of such items, what would be to stop you searching out my contacts and arranging it for yourself, you would surely make me into …"

"Yes, I know a beggar. It doesn't matter Marakius, my greed doesn't extend as far as yours. I am happy to be rid of them. Their previous owners will likely not be too happy that their property is missing."

"Surely you don't mean to tell me that you have sold me stolen property?" Questioned Marakius with a fake expression of shock.

"Why you old goat. You know very well where those stones came from. Don't pretend like you don't know."

"As much as I value your friendship, Athalas, I must take my leave. There are plots to be hatched, deals to be made, things to sell and coin to be had. I can't spend all day discussing the niceties of our fruitful trade. So I leave you with the knowledge that you are indeed a richer man at my expense. Don't spend all that gold at once, be certain to make a generous offering to Jakartu. The God of Thieves demands that we pay him tribute for his bountiful generosity."

"If I were a religious man, Marakius, I may believe in all that nonsense."

"Jakartu is ever watchful, and takes care of those who fill his coffers. Do not anger the gods, Athalas. You never know when you may need a favour."

"I have no time for superstitions, Marakius. The gods serve only themselves, only fools offer their gold to the gods."

"Then I will live and die a happy fool, Athalas. For I have ever worshipped the Lord of Trickery and Shadow, and look at the many rewards he has bestowed upon my humble self."

Athalas watched as the merchant placed the bag of gemstones into a small engraved metal box which he locked and placed inside his cavernous robes. Blue lights flickered and danced along the smooth surface of the box in a display of unknown magic.

"One can never be too careful." Explained the merchant who rubbed his hands together in a show of delighted satisfaction at a deal well made.

"I will let you know, should I acquire anything else, Marakius."

"Good, good, excellent, my friend. I will otherwise be engaged for a few days, but after that I will undoubtedly be ready to be robbed once again."

"I look forward to it, Marakius. Will you stay for another drink?" Athalas said as he gestured for the serving wench to bring him another tankard of ale.

"No, thank you, I must be leaving." Marakius said as he stood and gestured to his two bodyguards to accompany him.

"Until next time, Marakius."

"May Jakartu smile down on you, Athalas. And grant you the wisdom and wealth of one of his beloved followers." Marakius said with a wave of his chubby hand and then he was walking away, his bodyguards pushing through the throng of people that filled the busy tavern.

A busty serving wench leant over the table, seemingly much friendlier than the previous time she had poured Athalas a drink of ale. Her bosom was tightly packed into a low cut dress that was bursting under the strain of keeping her heavy breasts in place. She made a point of leaning inches from Athalas's face, smiling down at him and asking. "Will there be anything else? I'm sure we could come to some arrangement if you like what you see." She pouted through painted lips the colour of crimson.

Athalas looked her up and down. Without the plastered makeup she would have been attractive, he thought. He wondered at the prospect of sharing a bed for the day with the woman. If for nothing more than to relax before he returned to Carmathia City, capital of the Empire of Carmathia.

"Maybe later, I have things to take care of first. But I'll return tonight."

"Perhaps I will be busy tonight. My services are well sought after."

"Then I will find myself another whore." Athalas said with more than a hint of amusement.

"I'm no whore." She protested loudly.

"Then what are you, a saintly priestess, an untouched virgin. If you part your legs for money, you're a whore." He watched as she stormed away, followed by shouts and jeers from the drunken mob that had overheard her.

Athalas had barely noticed the man stood before him as he suddenly looked up from his ale to see a dark skinned slave master holding a chain of six slaves. A large tattooed overseer stood to one side. A leather whip folded in his hands and a short sword at his waist.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the delightful Shelia. Perhaps you are looking for something a little more permanent. A warm young body to keep you company at night. One who will not protest too much."

"And let me guess, you want to sell me a slave?" Athalas asked as he studied the short line of slaves. Gazing at each one in turn, their cloth sack clothing barely covering their modesty from the raucous crowd.

"I have a few here that you may be interested in, I have more onboard ship. Surely a man of your tastes and needs will not let such a wonderful opportunity pass him by."

"Like I said to the serving wench, I have things to do today that don't really involve dragging whores or slaves around the city."

"Then perhaps later we can come to some arrangement?"

"Do any of them speak Imperial Common, or are they all grunting natives?" Athalas asked as he eyed the dark skinned slaves. They were likely inhabitants of one of the Mututu Isles, a few thousand miles south of the Pirate Coast.

"Ah, my friend. I will see what we have aboard ship if you are indeed interested. We have a great variety to choose from, we aim to cater to everyone's taste. But surely you don't wish for them to talk, imagine nubile young legs wrapped around your back while you rut till your heart's content. What need have you of a talking slave?" The man said with a hint of puzzlement on his face as though he had never been asked such a question before.

"Perhaps I wish to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, or take long walks down by the river and dazzle her with my knowledge and whit."

"I fear you jest, my friend. Perhaps …"

"Perhaps I don't need a slave, there are any number of ways of satisfying ones desires without resorting to slavery."

"Then I fear I waste my time, had you said to begin with that you were not likely to want my goods, then I could have moved on to a more appreciating customer. You should learn better manners, friend."

"And who is going to teach me better manners, slaver? This overgrown pile of stinking filth?" Athalas said, suddenly irritated by the very presence of the two men.

In a sudden rush the overseer had gone for his blade, but before either of the men could react, Athalas had drawn two daggers and held one to each man's throat. He pressed his blade into the slave master's neck, just enough to draw blood, which trickled down the collar of his shirt.

"Do not be hasty, my friend. Surely we can come to some civilized understanding."

"Maybe I'm not feeling particularly understanding today. Maybe I should cut your damn miserable throats and shut your yapping mouth before I have to listen to any more of your irritating words."

"We will be missed. There is an entire ship full of my crew who will stop at nothing to hunt you down, if you so much as lay a hand on me." The man protested, though he looked ready to shed tears at this unexpected turn of events.

"I doubt it. Two less mouths to feed. Their share of the profits goes up, you'll be lucky if you get more than a hole in the ground."

"Then what do you want?"

"Perhaps I simply wish your death. You will find no friends here." Athalas said as he glanced around the room at the watching crowd.

As Athalas turned his head, the overseer grabbed for his short sword, his face a mask of hatred and anger at this affront. Athalas backhanded the dagger into his face, the metal hilt crashed into his jaw and some in the crowd winced as the bone beneath snapped. The overseer howled in agony as he held onto his jaw. A second backhanded strike to his temple sent him sprawling to the floor clutching his head and trying to stem the flow of blood that had opened up from a deep gash. The slave master tried to move only to find the other blade pressed firmly into his throat, the tip again drawing blood.

"King Narthelius will here of this. You will be hung from the city gates unless you remove that blade immediately." The slave master said in a childlike pleading tone.

"You should be careful whose name you use in your defence, slaver. The king is unlikely to raise an eyebrow over such miserable filth as you two dogs."

"Please, I have gold. Surely you are not an unreasonable man."

"If I wanted your gold, I'd take it. All I wanted was a quiet drink and to sit alone without being harassed, but you couldn't leave me alone, could you? Now take your slaves and get out of my sight."

"I will not forget this, you had better watch your back from now …" The vicious blow sent the slave master sprawling to the floor unconscious.

Athalas reached into the slaver's robes and pulled out his purse, tossing it to the tavern keeper. "Courtesy of our good friends here, get everyone a drink." Athalas said as the tavern erupted into shouts and laughter and a sudden rush to the bar. He reached down again and took the keys to the slaves' manacles, unlocking each one in turn. He was surprised when the slaves didn't move and looked to him expectantly.

"Go, you're free. Damn stupid savages." He grunted as the six slaves simply stood staring at him.

The overseer pushed himself up off the floor only to be met by a crunching boot to the jaw which sent him sprawling backwards into the crowd and knocked him as unconscious as the slave master. The tavern keeper signalled to two burly men who grabbed the two men off the floor and dragged them out of the door, throwing them into the snow. The door slammed shut and the rush for the bar continued.

Athalas sat back down, taking a long draw on his pipe and gulping down a full tankard of ale. He looked on as a large bearded pirate grabbed one of the slave girls and virtually carried her kicking and screaming up the tavern steps to the rooms above. Athalas looked on disinterested, freeing them from their shackles was one thing, he wasn't about to waste any effort playing guardian to a bunch of savage slaves. Within minutes others had grabbed the other slaves, and followed the bearded man upstairs until they disappeared into the rooms above. The shouts and screams from above were met with laughter and cheering from down below.

Shelia the serving wench returned moments later and placed two tankards of ale on the table, the tavern keeper Aldred waved and smiled across at Athalas. She turned to walk away without saying anything.

It wasn't long before the tavern erupted into a bawdy chorus of ear splitting singing that had Athalas downing his ale and ready to move on. He checked his weapons, a long sword and short sword, and the two daggers he had used moments earlier. He felt at the belt across his chest, ten throwing daggers were strapped in leather sheathes. He picked up his backpack, longbow, two quivers of arrows and his staff from the floor, readying himself to be on his way.

Moments later he stood in the blowing snow, cursing the hell spawned winter that had come unexpectedly to the normally warm Pirate Coast. Could it be some devilish sorcery that had brought the northern snows this far south to the city, whatever the cause he longed for the hot, sweaty days of summer?

As visits to Toratanga went, this particular trip had been thankfully uneventful thus far. He still had business to conduct, people to see and acquaintances to find. His travelling companions had found their own amusement in the city and would meet later in the day to discuss their latest venture.

There was no sign of the two slavers, undoubtedly they had returned to their ship enraged. Determined to find a vengeful mob that would help in hunting their prey and exact revenge for the wrong he had done them. Athalas began trudging through the thick snow, already it came to the top of his high leather travelling boots.

He quietly spoke an incantation, taking the spell components from a deep pocket within his hooded travelling cloak. Within seconds the cantrip had sufficiently warmed his body that he no longer felt the bitter cold of the snow and blowing gale that bit into his cheeks.

He began walking to the amusingly titled Noble District. The fact was that the city was a thriving den of thieving, murdering filth and scum. Where only the most bloodthirsty, wealthy and accomplished criminal residents of the city would dare think of themselves as nobles. But he had business to conduct there and it was the place to be if he wanted to take advantage of the best and most lucrative contracts on offer.

If there's any interest in the story I'll include information about the setting and characters in the next chapter.


End file.
